Konigin der Nacht (Queen of the Night)

[Writers_Bloque]

About a Song, something deep and bubbling.

The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

Konigin der Nacht


Allow me, a humble, but wary traveler of the alternate realities. Time, space, it was tiring. But enough about my pitiful tale. Let me tell you the story of two women, a palace, and a war averted. Two women who ran in the higher circles of socialite classes, almost royalty, if not aristocracy. Two women, with enough bad blood to start an eternity of wars.

One Amelia, Heiress of a multi national conglomerate, who seeks to make the lives of the entire world, rich or poor better. The other, Gracelyn, the heiress of a huge weapons company. Their lifelong fight was ending tonight at the Palace.....

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She was on time, respectfully. Kings, queens, and world leaders talked, swayed to the music, and enjoying an overly lavish meal at extravagantly decorated tables.

Fanfare. Amelia strode in, confident, but respectful. Her father had fallen ill. She was in her fathers stead. Respected and kind. But inside of her calm exterior lies an erupting volcano. Her fiancee had vanished on her rival's family yacht, doomed to sink in a storm off of the coast of the United States. It was discovered in pieces, but she was the only survivor. Whispers in the circles stated she killer her family and anyone in the family who stood a chance in taking over the family business. All plotted under disguise of an air head socialite.

After making her short rounds, she knelt before the King and Queen, paying her proper respects.

Finding her seat, the servers brought her a plate of hors d'oeuvres, and a light cocktail, popular in the European kingdoms.

Chatter in the room dimmed as another woman walked in. The blonde, busty heiress Gracelyn. Her appearance was just as you would expect. Nicely figured, a full chest, and dripping with poisonous and sweet honey with each spoke word. She was everything Amelia was not. But Amelia had charms that were more suited for long term romance, not the spur of the moment flings Gracelyn enjoyed.

As Gracelyn walked the room, greeting the guests, an air of tension rose slowly, and dramatically. As if something dangerous, like a freak summer storm was brewing was gathering. Women, cut glances at each other, especially the wives of dignitaries and even the true royalty guests of other countries. Even the Queen cut the ladies who made up her retinue a knowing sidelong glance, and as if on cue the ladies dispersed into the crowded party, to deliver messages to the women in attendance, as Gracelyn knelt before the throne, to offer her respects.

She was about to speak the practiced lines, to congratulate the King for stopping what would have been the first ever war that involved most if not all of the first world countries.

But the King silenced her with a raised hand before she could utter a word.

"Please, no more kind words. I did what I had to, to save the world from further bloodshed."

As he spoke the Queen slightly nodded, and the First lady excused herself. The President sat smiling, still crassly smoking a cigar, before dessert was served. Not a faux pas, but slightly irritating, if you never encountered an American president before. Why, even the King had one on his ashtray, a guilty pleasure, that did raise eyebrows, but who is going to call out a King, and call him out at his own party? Especially, since the President gifted him a box of the finest cigars, grown in the lush and prosperous American South, where the tobacco out shined European blends.

The party seemed to be slowly losing people after Gracelyn finished her meal. The music died down as the Queen rose to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, gathered here tonight, while what promises to be a grand dessert is in its finishing touches, I have a special award for Miss Gracelyn, whom is to receive an exclusive reward. So while we wait I would like the ladies of the party to gather in the Private Gallery, and the gentlemen to attempt to beat my dear husband in a game of classic billiards."

Everyone clapped as ladies and gentlemen were ushered to two different doors. As Amelia tried to walk past the Queen, she stopped the heiress.

"Please, join me and my lifelong consort in the garden, while we wait for the gallery to fill."

Amelia shocked, bowed with her hard learned politesse, and joined the Queen and her friend in the garden.

-------

"That pretty much sums our history up."

Amelia said to the Queen, after airing out her past with Gracelyn.

"With that shocking story said, why don't you come join us in the gallery?"

The Queen asked, as she grinned like a schoolgirl who got away with steeling a cherry pie off the window sill.
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Gracelyn was taken to a private fitting room, along with a warm bath. She was washed expertly, and then spritzed with rose and jasmine water, and dressed in a dress three steps higher in both cost and fashion, than the one she waltzed into the party in. It was oddly loose fitting, and was gently told it breathed better this way.

She was led through the high ceiling halls, portraits of the past royalty hung proudly, into the dark gallery.

If Gracelyn had any inklings of the history of this room in the palace, an open secret, then she would have excused herself and boarded the first train home.

But this is not the kind of woman she was. She was greedy, lustful and way too prideful to give up on a chance to score something rub Amelia's nose in. The woman just being alive deserved her most vile ridicule.

But entering the darkened gallery, a spotlight shined on a tall and beautiful cake, and a large golden medallion on the table. It was quiet in the room, save for the rustling of fabric against fabric. The room was packed, but still.

Two black cloaked figures unloaded stacks of plates and forks onto the table with the grand cake.

Another spotlight flared to life, showing a robed figure on a throne of onyx, inlaid with jasper. the arm rests ending in carved onyx skulls. The figure was imposing, in the already oppressive air of the room. She stood with a nervous smile, trying to peer into the darkness to catch anyone she knew, which was not going to work on two fronts, one, she was standing under a bright light, so she could make out forms, and two the hooded robes prevented faces from being seen.

A light hiss from behind spooked her a little, but when she turned all she seen was the figures delicately slicing the cake to be served to the shadowy figures.

"Let us celebrate the methods of service for which Miss Gracelyn used to benefit womankind."

She closed her eyes and bowed her head as the figure brought the medallion to hang from its ornate gold chain around her neck. For a split second she felt an odd warmth growing close to her skin, and then she stiffened and screamed out in pain as the hot, beautiful gold disc was pressed into her chest, where her dress was pull down slightly, to prevent anything ruining this artistic bonding of gold to flesh. The burn made her chest heave, her skin cooking, an odd smell, a mix of pork and slut rose into the air.

Quickly the whole gallery was lit bright, as more figures rushed the stage, to cuff her wrists and ankles to the stage. Devoid of the freedom of movement, the robed figure passed judgement.

"You shall forever be known the Konigin der Nacht, the Queen of the Night."

The figure rose, arms spread out, and proclaimed

"It is time for justice!"

The figure laughed as the last of the cake, save for a large slice left on the tray was served.

It started with paddle number one, who ripped the cheap and tawdry dress off the pain wracked Gracelyn. And once naked on the stage, she pulled the busty woman's hair. The robed woman spat in her face, and gave a slap that sounded like it hurt a lot.

"Next time you try to steal our small country's iron mine, make sure everyone else approves."

The woman spoke, before slapping her one more time, before leaving to let the next woman scratch the slut's face for the slight of loss of dignity when Gracelyn spread a horrible rumor about her deceased son being small dicked when he refused to take their short relationship sexual, in a honeypot attempt to take control of the family's holdings in Africa.

The litany of crimes, each being read out by the figure on the throne, while the degrees of punishments escalated violently, until a robed figure parted her robe.

"Eat me you whore of a bitch, a slut queen."

The woman forced the battered woman's head between her parted legs. At first Gracelyn weakly resisted, until a robed figure handed her the riding crop designed for the most stubborn of horses, and after a few lashes across the back, made Gracelyn more pliant and willing to eat the pussy of her torturer. Once the woman was satisfied the escalation continued.

"If you like eating cunt, then have some dessert!"

The remaining slice of cake was placed in a rough dog food bowl.

"Eat the cake like the bitch in heat you are!"

The gold chain was removed, too good for her neck, despite the medallion bonded to her skin and would not budge. It was quickly replaced with a thick leather and tight collar with a short leash.

The woman used her foot to force Gracely's face into the food bowl, and the cake was messily devoured.

Gracelyn started to willingly comply to avoid more pain, but the tears running down her face awakened the deepest cruel and sadistic parts of the crowd.

Mercy had long since left the party, leaving a cold new reality behind. No one would be there to save her. Not a single soul.

"Why...one of....you?"

She sobbed out in ragged gasps after a kick to the ribs, meant to hurt, but not break her ribs.

"One of us? Oh you foolish idiot, you were never one of us, we tolerated you, until you decided to try and destroy and ruin or steal from us. Consider this your formal writ of rejection."

The enthroned figure spoke.

The next woman had taken a stool and forced it under Gracelyn, and tied the leash to the stage, she too opened her robe to expose a fastened prong, thick enough to make a horse jealous. But this too was planned out, as the prong was just slightly less thick enough to cause permanent damage, but thick enough to not be pleasurable. some type of smelly oil was poured into the wounded, broken woman's ass crack.

"I hope this hurts and stings, whore."

The woman hissed as she drove the prong deep into the now oil and juice dripping pussy. It went in all in one go and the guttural please devolved into panic cries of large amounts of pain, spiced with minor traces of pleasure.

"AIEEEEEE! NO, STOP! TAKE IT OUT!"

Soon Gracelyn's body became pleasure numb to the massive invading tool, her head moving uncontrollably, as her mind was blanking, from the forced and brutal rape, and the massive building climax. She no longer cared about the destructive torture, the feminine cheers from the lower standing robed figures, nor the silent figures in the balcony that ringed the gallery, eating the last of the cake on their plates. No, in the moment her mind broken in a way that fractured her psyche, and crushed her personality. She stopped making any sort of intelligible noises.

When the large object exited, trigger her massive orgasm, she sighed, even as she was slapped hard in the face for enjoying it.

But something was coming. A quarter filled wine bottle was shoved up her lubed ass. She was forced into a position that allowed its contents of the bottle into her colon. It did not take long for her to become slightly inebriated. Her pleas for mercy still fell on deaf ears.

There was one last figure, as the woman on the throne stood.

"A choice tonight will be made, neither with disdain or malice at the outcome. You choose. Does she live, or does she die in disgrace, quietly swept away into dust, and forgotten?"

The woman spoke and handed the robed figure a knife.

The crowd chanted for death.

That was her cue to lower her hood, and pull Gracelyn to face her.

"You unworthy sow. You treated me horribly, after I gave you friendship, before you blossomed. I protected you when the other girls trashed your stuff and broken the small music box. And you repay my kindness after you blossom by doing the same things done to you, to me. And what is worse is that unrelenting self righteous, entitled arrogance, making you think we all owed you for just being close to you. No, Gracelyn there will be no help for you, not now, not ever. But I will leave you a gift, my fiddle to you, my pretty Nero, so you can enjoy the fall of your empire. Come here, Nathalia."

Gracelyn looked like she seen an army of ghosts. Her cousin, who was supposed to be dead was infact alive, and holding legal papers proclaiming Gracelyn declaration of death, and the true will, stating anyone who remained alive in the family if by some accident and miracle would inherit everything. After showing the papers, Nathalia had read aloud a news story draft that would be sent all over the world by morning would tell of the tragic, drunken fall off a cliff of Gracelyn, the Heiress of her family's holdings and fortunes. Witnesses say that she was kicked out of the Palace, and stumbled off the cliff, her body was found, body mangled and ruined, identified by her passport in her purse.

The nineteen year old stepped back to let Amelia finish.

"Your highness, death would be far to merciful, compared to what I wish to do."

Amelia spoke with a gentle cruelty.

"Approach."

The robed figure beckoned.

After some whispering, the figure nodded and spoke no more.

Taking the knife carefully, Amelia grabbed a large handful of Gracelyn's hair, and cutting it, leaving the once silky trusses in a nasty uneven bob cut. She threw the clump of hair onto the floor as the upper deck received very disgustingly pungent alcohol. Brutal, with an unholy proof that made it undrinkable. But used as a warning mark, the smell hard to remove, that the person was lower than worm feces on the social scale, a liar, and a cheat. People of the country knew what it meant to smell like it. You were worse than exiled. You do not exist as a person anymore. The ultimate snub and hard fall from grace.

The ground level robed figures, along with the figure on the throne. Once the lower gallery was cleared out, the upper balcony carefully tossed the little glasses of the foul distillate onto the sobbing trapped on the stage. Then they left silently.

The job was done.

The vapors of the distillate went straight to her head, and she passed out.

The party carried on like nothing happened, as a wooden box was loaded on a wagon, sent to the freight station, and quietly sent to parts unknown.

Why did the robed figure on the throne not join in the punishment?

This was her punishment and lesson about messing with a mother's son.

After gently reminding Gracelyn to mind her place, and to not pursue her son, who by the royal law, had to remain chaste until his coronation, where he would marry the next Queen. Of course they would build a relationship. But no physical contact.

Well, guess what the Queen of the Night did to raise such Ire?

Its not really a hard guess.

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In the morning, a nameless crate arrived at the Nunnery, though there was no worship of the Christian god here. No it was a very low class state ran brothel. It serve cheap drinks, cheaper meals and the cheapest nightly playthings, to placate the miners who needed to blow off steam after long stretched shifts.

The first month the new toy, with the branding on her chest, the golden medallion removed by a low grade doctor, the gold melted down to pay for some much needed repairs to the brothel, and a full restocking of the storehouse, begged anyone who half gave a shit to get her home. But since no one knew her, or believed her, she was beaten daily, until made fully compliant.

It would be forty years later, where she was killed by the new management of the brothel, who was out to clean house of the old, worn out stock, to replace with fresh faces and fresher talent. She was dumped in a whores grave, and buried without a funeral or even a tear shed.

At that time, Amelia retired, having married a respectable Admiral, bearing him three sons and a daughter, left it all to the girl, the only one who shown any interest in any of it. Then a month after her husband quietly slipped into the beautiful sleep, she followed him, taken gently, when she fell asleep, to never wake again. Her tomb was a modest one, with her accomplishments carved into the marble walls. In a corner, covered by a flowerpot with dried flowers was one line.

"Survivor of a bitter feud with one who only knew how to ruin."

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And thus my friends, the tale of once friends, weaving flower crowns on spring days, turned into relentless rivals, and then enemies draws to an end. Was there any chance of redemption for Gracelyn, or was it a vapid wish, born from a yearning to return to simpler times? I will let you decide.

Farewell until our paths cross again!

[Claire]

I'm not sure what to make of this one. This reads to me like the climax of a larger story that I don't know the beginning and middle of. I like the idea of Gracelyn getting punished by everyone she has wronged, and not in an extremely brutal way by each individual, but one slap and one scratch at a time. But that would work much better if this was like a 10 part series where she had screwed over dozens of people at this point and I knew every one of them and was emotionally invested in their revenge.

So I really like the concept for this one. If you ever wanted to tell a larger story with the same premise that culminates in a final scene like this, I think this would have the potential to be something great.

edit: I usually don't say anything about the optional tags people choose. But the 2P-Narrator is clearly not applicable here. This is just normal third person narration, isn't it?

[AdmiralPiet]

I'm not sure what to make of this one.

You are not alone

This reads to me like the climax of a larger story that I don't know the beginning and middle of.

@Writers_Bloque This. I feel like this is just a fragment of a larger picture. That can work, but there should be hints at the larger picture.

"That pretty much sums our history up."

Amelia said to the Queen, after airing out her past with Gracelyn.

This piece here could have been built into a bit of exposition, as it is, this bit serves no purpose, since it tells the reader nothing.

Also, and this might be me, because I myself tend to string together overly long sentences, but your paragrafs have a very quickfire feel to it, to a point where things seem to have been left out that needed to be in there. I could not follow because to me it lacks "flow"

[Writers_Bloque]

I'm not sure what to make of this one. This reads to me like the climax of a larger story that I don't know the beginning and middle of. I like the idea of Gracelyn getting punished by everyone she has wronged, and not in an extremely brutal way by each individual, but one slap and one scratch at a time. But that would work much better if this was like a 10 part series where she had screwed over dozens of people at this point and I knew every one of them and was emotionally invested in their revenge.

So I really like the concept for this one. If you ever wanted to tell a larger story with the same premise that culminates in a final scene like this, I think this would have the potential to be something great.

edit: I usually don't say anything about the optional tags people choose. But the 2P-Narrator is clearly not applicable here. This is just normal third person narration, isn't it?

I apologize, I was refraining from using some details as the time and place is still an open wound years, the start of WW1 or the lack of a start as the king had averted it. I really did not want to disrespect the event, so I left those details out. I will be a multipart story where the entire story will unfold, where Gracelyn will be punished further as ripples in the timeline, caused by an outside source will turn this all upside down, playing on the theory that there are certain events in history that had to have happened as they were supposed to, or else entire alternate timelines and realities will implode. The man telling the story is both the villain and hero, but outside of it all. I just wanted to get the appetizer out, as flawed as it may be, so that the multiple main courses can be served.

I am trying my hand at this kind of story, because my love of it started with Command and Conquer Red Alert 3, where ww2 became a three way war between the Axis, Allies and Japan. All because Russia went back in time to kill Einstein to stop him from creating the Chrono Sphere, which could rapidly transport troops and vehicles through time and space. But I may have done this not quite right.

[Writers_Bloque]

I'm not sure what to make of this one.

You are not alone

This reads to me like the climax of a larger story that I don't know the beginning and middle of.

@Writers_Bloque This. I feel like this is just a fragment of a larger picture. That can work, but there should be hints at the larger picture.

"That pretty much sums our history up."

Amelia said to the Queen, after airing out her past with Gracelyn.

This piece here could have been built into a bit of exposition, as it is, this bit serves no purpose, since it tells the reader nothing.

Also, and this might be me, because I myself tend to string together overly long sentences, but your paragrafs have a very quickfire feel to it, to a point where things seem to have been left out that needed to be in there. I could not follow because to me it lacks "flow"

I agree. I will fix it in the next installment. I just thought I gave enough exposition from the small intro. I was wrong, and that is on me. I was trying to rapidfire the paragraphs, but try to keep it good and informational, as I have been accused rightfully so of tl;dr rambling stories.

The exact quote was
'This is supposed to be spank/schlick fuel, not a god damned movie in word form."

I appreciated all the helpful advice, as I hone my craft, it really helps!